God that's horrible. My **** from 3 weeks ago can write a better lyric.
Originally Posted by Pusha
Love him or hate him, Rick Ross sells a lifestyle.
I'm treated like a king,
When I'm down in Port-au-Prince,
Bitch, I do my thang,
That's one thing that they taught a prince,
You get the boat,
I get the dope,
All my Zoes speak in codes,
if you talk, you better talk money;
Chef creole for dinner,
Bulletproof the car,
So **** tintin' dem windows;
Wit true warriors,
Yeah, it's Ricky Ross,
But I'm the glorious;
Cocaine my game,
I show you how to flip that thang
The change, done came,
The cars and cribs is all the same;
I'm a drug dealer,
M I ya-yo,
Ricky Ross trilla.
This is proper hip hop material.
I'm seconds from meeting what the Mossberg had to offer
And feed my thoughts of Christ to the altar
I wake up on a red floor
Axe in a dead *****
My dick chewed up, why I let this bitch give me head for?
Pigs tryin' ta kick down the door, I'm out for me
Opened the sliding glass door and hopped off the balcony
Fell 30 flights to cars on 10th Av.
Landed on a FedEx-disguised meth lab
And after it blew up
I woke up and threw up
Stuck my hand in my pants, my **** ain't chewed up
Wiped the puke from my face
Then leaved this place
With a 4-5 in the waist
At an elitist pace
No breathing space
I step out and show face
Within 3 minutes I'm approached for H
Then a shotgun to neck, now loose the weapon
And my skull fragments painted the sky for seconds
Back to my brain like my brain is a home
While I roll with the fame I still aim at the throne
All my peers all sleep and I'm the only one not weak
Or am I unconscious dreaming I'm making a speech
Is this reality or my memory getting mileage
Am I staring at the sun or blood vessels in my eyelids
Do I make music or is music making me
Is this really all death or just my awakening
I pick my head up, with a face full of drool
Look around the classroom, now I'm some geek in high school
Get fucked with in the hallway and can't do ****
But write names on bullets and fill a few clips
No need for rags and vodka, got a locker
With enough fire-power to war with helicopters
First click to pass, I'm clicking to release
Each adolescent fist holding 4 police killers
And I ain't paying for the clips I'm spendin'
When I shoot up the crowd like a heroin convention
Feds storm the building for the sick boy with *****
Made of steel, put **** through toilet stalls
See my teachers dead through holes in the door
And alerted the cops outside, holdin' the floor
I exit the bathroom, enter a vet parade
Getting shot the **** up but smoke some pig on the way
I open up my eyes to get cracked in the face
Six times, while I'm asked for combos to a safe
My wife on the couch, dying, raped, in shock
While the gunmen argue on where to take the Yacht
Assuming I'm rich
My own boat
And if I don't start speaking I'ma loose my throat
They start chumming the water with my dead hoe and laugh
Force me to see great whites snapped on the lower half
Lobbed off my arm, threw it in, no guns to shoot
Think of 3 past deaths and find an escape route
All I have to do is wake up, lift the mast
And get shot off the boat and my back to get whipped in half
I wake up screamin'
With a shotgun in church, feindin'
To kill myself, but I don't know if I'm still dreamin'
50-50 chance I'ma die and go straight up
Or straight to hell, either ******' way I'ma wake up!